


Rose-Coloured Glasses

by ProseApothecary



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Sam and Fred keep the local florist in business.





	Rose-Coloured Glasses

“Freddy Bear.” Sam whines, ever allergic to using Fred’s actual name. “We need to stick to a colour palette. Bluebells with roses is unheard of. Pick one,” Sam points to each of the flowerpots in Fred’s hands in turn. “Warm or cool?”

Fred’s been asking himself the same question lately.

He’s warm when Sam reaches under the table to weave his fingers between Fred’s. Until someone looks over, and the hand is gone, and Fred feels his fingers ice over again. Warm at night, when Sam presses a kiss to his shoulder, thinking he’s asleep. Cool over breakfast the next morning, when they barely look at each other.

He doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to give the game away. So he stops himself from staring, stops himself from smiling too much, stops himself from pouring promises into Sam’s ear.

But he’s never been very good at playing it cool.

He holds up the roses.

Sam purses his lips.

Fred smiles. “Wrong answer?”

“No,” says Sam, “I can make compromises.” He sounds defensive. He always sounds defensive. “What about bluebells for the kitchen, roses for our room?”

Fred’s smile turns into a grin. “Our room?”

“My room. Your room. Whichever,” Sam says quickly.

“Deal,” says Fred, thinking about clouds and sunlight, and what one would be without the other.

All he knows is that Sam is dragging him to the checkout, fingertips brushing against his, and he feels midsummer in his soul.


End file.
